


There’s A Fine Line (Between Detecting and Heckling)

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-S7 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:25:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set not long after the end of 7:03 <i>Intelligent Design</i>; recommend not reading if you haven't seen S7 and don't want to know how the series ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There’s A Fine Line (Between Detecting and Heckling)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the[ Happy Lewis Fanworks Fest](http://inspector-lewis.livejournal.com/482895.html) on LJ, for a prompt from Cedara. Set after the end of S7, so contains spoilers for the series ending. 
> 
> Summary: _“You’re joking. We’re supposed to be retired!”_
> 
> With thanks to the brilliant Lindenharp for BRing.

“Row, row, row your boat gently down the–”

“Ow! Robbie, are those shoes or workman’s boots you’re wearing?”

“Ah, stop your moanin’, man! Don’t tell me you’re not glad we don’t have to wear bloody suits all day long any more?”

James grins, then tightens his grip on Robbie’s arm as his former boss threatens to fall over. “How many did you have before I got here? Am I going to face the wrath of Dr Hobson for bringing you home three sheets to the wind?”

“Call her Laura, soft lad. An’ are you claiming I’m drunk?”

“You know you are.” Robbie’s threatening to sing again, and James chokes back laughter. “Come on. Let’s get you home and then you can sing about boats all you like. Well, until Laura shuts you up, anyway. Car keys?”

“Not the same if you’re not rowing with me. Singing. Whatever.” 

“I said I’d go in with you on the boat – well, as long as I get a job soon, anyway. Keys?” James repeats, holding out his hand.

“You’ll get it. Who wouldn’t want a cl-cleverclogs like you?” Robbie rummages in his jeans pocket as they stop beside his car in the almost-deserted car park – no longer a BMW, but a smaller and more sensible Honda Civic. Robbie claims the BMW is the only thing he misses about the job, though James teases him about missing being called Sir a few hundred times a day. “If I missed that, would I have told you to call me Robbie?” the former inspector had retorted.

Robbie’s still searching for his keys, and James is getting cold; he came out without a coat, and it’s now a chilly October night, about an hour from closing time. “Another minute and I’ll find them for you.” 

That’s when he notices that Robbie’s not moving, and instead he’s staring at something. “You seein’ what I’m seeing?” he says, and gestures towards the car.

James follows the direction of Robbie’s pointing finger. On the gravel, by the front wheel of the Civic and right at the edge of the car park, illuminated in the moonlight, lies the crumpled body of a man, blood pooling behind his head. “You’re joking. We’re supposed to be retired!”

 

***

“Laura’s on duty this evening,” Robbie comments as they stand together, guarding the crime scene as they wait for the first uniforms to arrive.

“Good reason to sober up quickly, then,” James says. “Sure you wouldn’t like me to run inside and get you a coffee?”

“Told you, I’m not drunk. Who was it noticed the body, smartarse?”

“Yeah, yeah. There has to be some reason why you were the DI and I was the mere DS.” James flashes a grin, but then his gaze returns to the body on the ground. 

Robbie glances at him and their gazes meet; they’re both tempted. “Ah, what harm would it do?” Robbie mutters, and jerks his head towards the body. They stand over the corpse – he really is dead; James checked for a pulse while Robbie was calling it in – and do a visual check for clues.

“Blow to the head, by our old friend the blunt instrument,” James announces.

“Too easy.” Robbie jabs James’s elbow. “Killed somewhere else and dumped here.”

“Also too easy.” James gestures downwards. “Not enough blood or brain matter to have been killed here. I’m guessing either he was killed out of doors or dragged through mud to get him into whatever vehicle brought him here.”

“Yeah, yeah, mud on his coat. That could’ve been there before, you know.” Robbie bends closer and sniffs. “He’s been on a farm.”

“Surprised you could smell that with all the alcohol on your breath.” James smirks, then crouches close to the body. “Defensive wounds on his hands and blood under the nails.”

“Over-achiever.” Robbie scans the scene for any more obvious clues, but then hears sirens. He sighs. “Best get out of the way, I s’pose.”

James nods, and they retreat to the path. “You think we’ll be allowed to take the car, once they’ve finished with us?”

Robbie shrugs. “If I was the DI in charge, I wouldn’t let us.”

“Two annoying civilians getting in the way? No chance. You wouldn’t let SOCO release it for at least a couple of days. We’d be lucky not to be brought in for questioning.”

“Nah, they’ll let us go once we’ve given statements,” Robbie decides. “Nobody’d suspect us – two ex-coppers? Besides, we’re gonna know the CID team.”

It does feel strange to present themselves to the uniformed constables as mere witnesses, instead of taking charge and giving orders to secure the scene. It’s awkward, too, as the constables recognise the pair of them and their initial reaction is clearly to treat them as the CID officers they were until a week or so ago – before, abruptly, they obviously remember that Lewis and Hathaway are no longer on the Force. James takes pity on the PCs and grips Robbie’s arm. “We’ll wait over there for CID to get here, shall we?” He gestures with his free arm towards a bench a little way away.”

“Thank you, sir, that would be very helpful,” one of the PCs says with obvious relief.

“Not gonna get to me bed any time soon, am I?” Robbie grumbles. 

 

***

It’s close to an hour later, and the place is swarming with uniforms and official vehicles. The scene’s taped off, and Robbie and James have been the subject of stares and respectful nods from every new arrival. Still no CID, however. “Taking their time, aren’t they?” James comments, not bothering to keep his voice down. “My governor would’ve had a black mark on my file if I’d taken this long to get to a crime scene.”

Robbie glances at him, lips creased into an amused grin. “You had a better governor than whoever’s in charge of this lot. Pathologist’s not even here yet.”

“Yes, where _is_ Laura?”

Robbie opens his mouth to reply, but James catches his arm and gestures sharply towards the bright red BMW that’s just pulled up in the now-brightly lit car park. Robbie turns to look. “Oh, Christ, it’s Action Man.”

“He’s not even on Serious Crimes!” James frowns. “You don’t think Innocent–?”

“Moved him into my slot?” Robbie pulls a face. “Never could understand what she saw in him.”

“Maybe he’s never responsible for complaints of police facetiousness?” James suggests, looking back at Robbie.

“Boring!” they both pronounce in unison. But then James catches sight of Peterson heading in their direction and he nudges Robbie. The two of them stand.

“Robert! James! I was told it was you two who found the body. What an amazing coincidence.” Peterson stops in front of them, rubbing his hands, a smile on his face that makes James wonder if he’s had botox injections.

“Peterson.” Robbie nods abruptly, not offering his hand. “Found the body right by me car.”

“Makes you the prime suspect, I’d think, ha ha. Better not leave town, Robert.” 

“I can keep an eye on him,” James offers, tongue in cheek and completely ignoring the kick he receives to his ankle. “Unless you think I’m his accomplice.”

“Well, the two of you would make perfect partners in crime, should you ever decide to go in that direction.” Peterson laughs at his own joke, then glances away. “Ah. Our pathologist’s here. I’ll send DC Gray over to take your statements shortly, if you don’t mind waiting a bit longer.”

Gray – right, the bloke who was Robbie’s temporary bagman. James had been just a little put out when he’d heard that someone had been assigned in his place, but he’d met Gray not long after his return and liked the young DC. “Poor sod, I did hear he’d been assigned to Peterson once I didn’t need him any more,” Robbie comments. 

Laura’s walking across the car park, Peterson at her elbow and fussing around her, trying to take her medical bag. James grins and nudges Robbie again, and the two of them stifle laughter as they recognise the signs of Laura calmly swatting Peterson away like an annoying fly. 

“Hi, Laura love,” Robbie calls out, walking over to the edge of the tape. “Got a pretty easy one here.”

Laura looks across at them, then shakes her head. “Oh, god. They told me a couple of ex-coppers reported the body. It would have to be you two. Just as I thought my crime scenes were going to be treated with proper respect again.”

“Oi! I always treated _my_ crime scenes with respect,” Robbie objects. 

Laura shakes her head, then bends to examine the body, Peterson at her shoulder. In just a few minutes, she’s confirmed Robbie and James’s initial deductions, and found ID. 

“Look.” Robbie nudges James with his shoulder. “Action Man thought the bloke was killed here.”

Robbie’s right; Peterson’s obviously wrong-footed, calling a couple of the SOCO team over and changing his instructions to them. 

“Thought there was far too little blood pooling for the murder to have happened here, eh, Laura?” Robbie says, raising his voice just enough for his partner to hear. “Not to mention no spatter patterns.”

“Thank you, Dr Lewis,” Laura says, tone dry as a pub with no beer. “Inspector, can’t we get these two interviewed and out of here? Or send someone to interview them in the morning?”

“In the morning, yes! Excellent idea,” Peterson announces, looking relieved. “After all, it’s not as if you were involved in any way, is it? I’ll get Gray to drive your car over when he interviews you, if SOCO’s finished with it, Robert. If you could let us have the keys?”

Robbie sighs, clearly reluctant. Laura shakes her head. “James, take him home for me, _please_?” And sober him up, James is pretty sure she’d like to add, but won’t in front of Peterson.

James winks at her. “Come on, sir, let’s get you home. I’m sure one of these nice PCs wouldn’t mind giving you a lift?”

 

***

He gets the constable to take them to Laura’s, since he’s already halfway moved in with her and it was already planned that he’d be here tonight. James is about to provide his own address as Robbie’s getting out, but Robbie turns back and tugs at his arm. “Come in an’ have a drink with me. Laura’s not going to be back for a couple of hours yet.”

“Haven’t you had enough?” But James is smiling and clearly doesn’t need much persuasion.

“Didn’t say beer, did I?” As soon as they’re inside, Robbie puts the kettle on. Five minutes later, they’re bringing mugs of tea and a packet of HobNobs to the sofa, and kicking shoes off to sprawl comfortably.

“D’you miss it?” James asks, turning sideways to look at Robbie.

“No chance.” James’s brows elevate and his lips twitch. Bloody smartarse knows him too well. “All right, maybe for about two minutes. But then I remembered we’re not the ones who’ll be out there half the night.”

“Yeah, and then wading through crates of evidence in the morning, with Innocent breathing down our necks.”

“Yeah.” He studies James for a moment. “Do you miss it?” It’s a bit of a dangerous question; he remembers vividly the way James looked and sounded the last couple of days before he announced that he was resigning, and there’s not a lot Robbie wouldn’t do never to see James like that again.

James hesitates. “I miss the challenge, a bit,” he admits. “The logic puzzles and research. Not the rest.”

“I know.” He lays a hand on James’s knee, pressing for a moment. “But you’ll get that challenge in your new job.”

“If I get it.” James is waiting to hear from a small research institute that does criminological analysis under contract for the Home Office. If he gets the position he interviewed for two days ago, he’ll be able to register for an MPhil simultaneously with his employment. It’s not Robbie’s idea of fun, but he knows James will thrive – and it’ll keep him in Oxford, and working a more or less standard nine to five Monday to Friday, which pleases Robbie very much.

“You’ll get it.” He hasn’t told James, but he’s already been asked for a reference – and gave a glowing one. Innocent also got a call, and phoned Robbie to tell him she’d given an excellent reference and strongly advised the project director to offer James the job.

“As long as you’ll still speak to me when I’m a bloody academic.” James smirks, then glances at his watch. “Christ, why did I let you invite me in? It’s after one, and I’m going to have to get a taxi home.”

“Don’t be daft. Two spare bedrooms here, as you already know.”

“Yes, but it’s Laura’s house, and it’s not as if she’s even here to give permission.”

Robbie drains his tea. “Don’t imagine I missed her hintin’ at you to keep an eye on me back there. She’ll be expecting you to stay. Spare toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet when you’re ready.”

James yawns. “Fair enough. And since I understand you’re in charge of the kitchen these days... I like my eggs soft-boiled.”

Robbie throws a cushion at the cheeky sod.

 

***

It’s after two before Laura finally lets herself into the house, with just six hours before she’ll have to get back to the morgue for an early-morning PM. There are lights on in the kitchen and living area, and she detours to turn them off. And then halts, a grin forming on her tired face as her gaze falls on the sofa.

Robbie’s head is tilted against the sofa-back, and he’s snoring softly, mouth open. Next to him, head a dead weight against his upper arm, James Hathaway is slumped, equally fast asleep.

Laura shakes her head, fond amusement in her gaze. She always knew that if she ever did end up with Robbie she’d be getting two for the price of one, and clearly even retirement and resignation from the Force makes no difference there. She might be Robbie’s partner, but James is and will continue to be his best mate. Well, she’s never made any secret of the fact that she thinks James is easy on the eye, and now that he’s not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders he’s very entertaining company.

Though if the two of them stay where they are until morning, neither of them’s going to be any kind of good company. Robbie’s back and neck will give him no end of trouble, and it’s not that long since James had whiplash.

“Oi, wake up, sleepyheads.” She shakes them gently, shaking her head again as they startle awake. 

“Laura, pet, I was trying to wait up for you,” Robbie says, reaching for her hand to pull her down for a kiss.

And that’s a new role for him, being the person waiting patiently at home instead of the one always returning later than expected. Still, it won’t be for all that long; she’s starting to think she might be ready for retirement in two or three years, and in the meantime maybe she could go part-time.

James stands, stretching and looking just a little awkward at being found here. Laura reaches for him and shakes him fondly. “Some host Robbie is. There’s a perfectly good bedroom upstairs, James. The wardrobe’s empty, too – next time you come over, bring a couple of changes of clothes with you, all right?”

“Thank you.” James bends to kiss her cheek, then disappears upstairs and she’s left with Robbie.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” she tells him. “You know Peterson’s not used to murder investigations.”

“You thought it was funny,” he points out, not even trying to look ashamed. 

“Yeah, well, just try to stay away from crime scenes in future, eh?” Then she sighs. “Why am I bothering asking you? I’ll just ask James in the morning – at least he listens to me.”

“I listen to you!” Robbie objects. “An’ right now you’re telling me you’re dead on your feet. Come on, love. Bed for you.”

He grabs her and, before she can protest, swings her off her feet. Robbie Lewis might be a pensioner, but he’s in fine physical condition for a man of almost sixty. And, given the state of her feet right now, she’ll forgive him anything if he carries her up the stairs.

She’ll even forgive James Hathaway the smirk he gives the two of them as he emerges from the bathroom just as Robbie kicks open their bedroom door with a mock-caveman growl. Though if either of the blokes assumes she’s up for more than just five solid hours’ sleep tonight, they’re not the detectives they used to be.

Though – not that she’ll boost their egos further by telling either of them – from what she’s seen tonight, even that would still make them considerably better detectives than Alan Peterson.

________________________________________________________________________


End file.
